


Fictional, Definitely

by earthmylikeness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Bromance gone awry, M/M, Misunderstanding, Pining, very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthmylikeness/pseuds/earthmylikeness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"No. Well- I mean. Look, Hoechlin’s so cool, and- and so great, and a friend - and I don't want that to go wrong." Dylan trails off on a watery sigh - gazing dreamily at nothing. "But man, I just really want his face on my face."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fictional, Definitely

 

 

"Cut!” Tim calls from beyond the camera. “Tyler, the intrinsic _point_ of Derek as a character is that he doesn't think Stiles is funny."

Hoechlin, the Tyler in question, was currently doubled-over in a breathy fit in the middle of a field, with a cast and crew of fifty, at two AM, forty degrees out - and by correlation everyone was put on standby. Dylan had a hand on his back, patting it calmingly, but it was of no use. Hoechlin's light laughter pealed across the field and none of them could stop smiling like a very large crowd of idiots.

Tim sighs good-naturedly, having worked for nearly two years now with this cast of utter children. "We're well into third season now, Tyler, I think you should get over Stiles."

"Get it together, Hoechlin. My god." Dylan says, smirking a bit. Because that little ad lib tagged on at the end was his doing, and this is the exact result he’d been looking for, to be honest. Tyler Hoechlin breaking character was the highlight of his day.

"Ff- fuck you-" Hoechlin attempts through bubbling laughter and tears in his eyes, and that was also great.

Colton jogs back to the scene and rubs his face with his hand, abused. "I am going to kill the both of you."

"What? Why me?" Dylan spins, indignant. "I keep a straight face better than all of you combined."

Colton cuts him off, pointing at him accusingly, "You _provoke_ , you fucker. Don't think I've forgotten being on the receiving end of your Stiles-shtick because remember first season? I've just gotten over it because it's _always happening_. Right, Posey?"

"Right!" Posey punches a fist into mid-air, lying prostrate on the ground, in avid agreement.

Colton glares at Dylan out of his beautiful pools of hazel and his handsome, model face. "This is like the fiftieth fucking take, Dylan. Please. I want to go home and pass out, I am too old for this."

Hoechlin chokes audibly beside them, attempting to calm down.

Dylan shrugs unapologetically, "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. This series has escalated extremely quickly into the manic-depressive genre. Heavy on the _depressive_. The fans are crying at me on twitter. It's not my fault Jeff Davis is a sadist." To which, Jeff calls from afar, 'I heard that!'

Jeff was probably a psycho werewolf uncle of all of them, with crazy werewolf hearing and a relish for human tears.

Posey nods, getting up. "That's also true. He bullied me out of a kielbasa the other day, threatening to kill off my character mid-season." He lowers his voice in real fear, "Can he _do_ that?"

"You're too pretty to die, man." Colton assures him.

Posey's face splits into a grin, pulling him into an intimate waist-hug. "Aw, babe. You're totally hot too."

"I'm _right_ here." Dylan reminds them, genuinely offended.

"You've got Hoechlin," Colton says from the crook of Posey's shoulder, patting his dark brown curls. Dylan opens his mouth to rebuke, but can't find anything to say to that. How has he _got_ Hoechlin?

The director megaphones at them all, then, "Quiet on the set. Hoechlin, we good?"

"We're _so_ good," Hoechlin grins, as make-up tries to dab away the tear-stains from Derek's wolf-sideburns. He reaches out a fist for Dylan to bump with his own, and sighs another laugh, looking out from his freaky blood-red eyes. "Amazing."

"Yeah," Dylan agrees, heart free-falling at Hoechlin's smile of wolf teeth. He realizes belatedly that this might be getting out of hand.

 

==

 

This wasn’t the first time Hoechlin has expressed his undivided infatuation with Stiles Stilinski – and in relation, with Dylan. He’s done it on several, public occasions, even and especially when unprompted.

He talks about Stiles more often than he talks about Derek. And in succession, he talks about Dylan and how great he is at acting, and how funny he is, and how amazing he is to work with, and just- _what a cool kid._

Dylan is very, very appreciative of this. And he reciprocates often, meaning it. He loves the way they can talk, and click, and know exactly what the other means in any conversation, sharing looks and speaking in eyebrows. It’s crazy how easily they can make each other laugh, how easy it is to share a mic, a couch, a silence. How regular it’s become to turn his head and see Hoechlin looking back at him with his arm around Posey, stifling a laugh, like they’re always sharing a pleasant joke, even when they’re not.

Dylan loves the guy, he’s so weird and totally like, in love with him, and Stiles, and _him_ – or something, and it was all just _fine._

Until Dylan started to _like_ Hoechlin. A bit too much. Enough that it might sting later on, when Hoechlin would, inevitably, move on.

 

==

 

"That was such a good take, come here." Hoechlin opens his arms, as the scene finally wraps and everyone begins to pack up - Hoechlin's face is a distinct contrast from Derek's just a few moments ago: shut-off and defensive and irrationally angry all the time.

"That was a terrible take, what are you _on_." Dylan goes over to him anyway, but then retreats immediately, seeing the look on Hoechlin's face. "Don't kiss me, you look like an orc."

"But I looovee youu." Hoechlin croons, with his werewolf face. So, not very inviting.

"No, you love Stiles." Dylan corrects. "As you continue to remind the whole world every chance you get. God, you're even more hairier than usual."

"I love both. Can’t I love both?" Hoechlin says, his clawed hands hanging on Dylan's shoulders as make-up artists converge on him, tearing away prosthetic skin and additional facial hair. Dylan watches in amazement as Hoechlin reverts back to his normal, smiley, perpetually elated self. "Is that wrong?"

He thinks about liking both this.. dashing, sweaty, overall incredibly pleasant Tyler Hoechlin currently in front of him, and the broody, pissy Derek Hale from five minutes ago. He doesn't know if that's wrong. He thinks it's pretty weird, although they both share a very good face, and look equally good shirtless.

"It's weird? It's weird." Dylan decides. "I appreciate it though." But Tyler keeps going.

"The fans caught on to something right. I mean, I am just attracted to all of this, right here," he says, gesturing at Dylan. "I can't hide that. Look at him, Jen. _Of course_ Derek couldn't resist that face," Hoechlin tells the make-up artist dabbing at his chin.

"You're getting your pronouns mixed up," Dylan laughs nervously, face heating. He smiles awkwardly at Jen as she walks off.

"Am I though?" Hoechlin grins, hanging an arm on Dylan's shoulder comfortably. "Let's get the hell home, I am dead on my feet."

Dylan swallows hard against nothing. He feels giddy and panicked, which he figures is inevitable. Though really, he shouldn't have to even be in this situation. He doesn't want to have to go through this.. pseudo-fake feelings blossoming under his ribs like- fucking- drama club. Putting on other people's clothes, being in love with someone right up until the curtain falls. Hoechlin might be cool with brief infatuations, but Dylan's been in those, and they weren't all that great. Or brief. Dylan's easily affected heart would be the butt of that joke.

The whole Sterek arc, whether it’s canon or not, is all fun and games until Dylan becomes delusional, which is sure to happen. Hoechlin was into a lot of things, and half in love with basically everyone, so Dylan has to keep his head straight.

There’s an arm warm at his back and fingers curled against his chest, and Dylan feels a sudden urge to pull away, not give away the little hitch of heartbeat caused so obviously by Tyler’s proximity. Dylan feels irrationally pissed at the whole thing.

“- I think it’s perfect how you pulled that off. You shouldn’t look so good when you’re acting angry, Dylan. It’s distracting-“ Hoechlin’s saying, looking at him in the dimly-lit night. Dylan catches the look, and his stomach bottoms-out.

_I just love you man and I want you around all the time is that too much to ask._

Dylan shrugs off the arm without thought, moving away. "Dude, it's- We're just kidding around here, right?"

Tyler furrows his eyebrows at that, smiling still, though his face falls a bit, making Dylan want to bite his tongue in half. "Are we?" he asks cryptically.

Dylan fumbles, looking down and to the side, desperately searching for an escape from this conversation. "Yeah- the whole, we're on a ship- thing. Like that's just jokes, and they're just- fictional characters who we play, who hate each other, so it's funny. Sexual tension, opposites attract – all that, right? It's- um, hilarious. But that's not- not going to have any part in this, this thing that's, that we- you know. Um, what?"

"I didn't say anything." Hoechlin says, careful, eyes widening with each word Dylan drops from his mouth, looking more and more like a distressed Derek as seconds pass. "What do you mean, ‘this thing’-"

"Absolutely nothing.” Dylan cuts and runs, “um. I gotta go- drive Posey home, and also myself, home, obviously. I'll uh- see you tomorrow." Dylan taps Tyler's arm and taillights out of there, hating himself and regretting ever opening his big mouth ever.

“Yeah, sure,” He hears Hoechlin say as he walks briskly away, leaving him stranded, feeling like the worst kind of person.

 

==

 

"You guys aren't even listening to me." Dylan says at large, squished on the tiny trailer couch in front of the TV, as the fanatic commentary of the two girls sitting on either side of him drowns out his voice. Crystal’s long beige dress was draped over him like a blanket and Holland’s legs were curled against his stomach. He felt both ignored and smothered at the same time.

Crystal flicks a distracted hand at him, the other clutching a cushion between her chest and knees. "Believe me, if Breaking Bad wasn't on right now, I would be so, so supportive and immersed in this conversation. But Aaron Paul, Dylan. But Aaron Paul."

The werewolves of their show were filming a violent, action-packed scene that morning, and all of the humans have been benched for the day until afternoon shooting. Dylan was camped out in Crystal’s trailer, not at all hiding from the self-induced friendship-romance-whatever crisis that was only real and visible to him and only him. He might be avoiding Hoechlin. Forever, if at all possible.

"I agree with you, but I'm in a crisis here. Like a serious, relationship, things-have-gone-terribly-wrong crisis. I might’ve just turned down _Hoechlin_. Like, for _good_.” How does one deal with that.

Crystal tears her eyes away from the screen as commercial rolls to finally look at Dylan. "Can you explain the situation in a succinct, direct manner, and not this- beating around the bush nonsense? Be an adult, basically." She says without remorse, wounding Dylan irretrievably.

"I'm totally being an adult here." Dylan tells her through a mouthful of chips. "Just because I'm emotionally stunted doesn't mean I'm a child. I'm 21, apparently." Dylan thinks about that for a moment; he should be a fucking grown-up by now. These things should come naturally to him.

"Then stop acting like one." Holland sing-songs, which, god. Holland was so impossible to dislike even when she’s mean. Dylan pulls at her hair anyway, making her slap his hand away.

" _What did you do_ , Dylan." Crystal implores, and Dylan just sighs and sighs.

"I don't even know. I just- was really… mean. I was mean to him. I hurt his feelings, or something like that. Things might be unsalvageable."

"That's just foreplay, don't worry about it." Holland says, at which Dylan looks scandalized, a hand on his chest and mouth agape.

" _How_ were you mean to him," Crystal asks, ignoring them both. "There are so many ways you could've messed this up, what with you being a self-conscious neurotic, who can't take a damn compliment, much less an invitation for intimacy- or a _come-on_. Did he try to kiss you and you ran away?"

“What, _no_ ,” Dylan huffs, struggling, "I just-- don't get what people see in me? I'm still only _kind of a human being_ on a really good day."

"That's true." Crystal scrunches her nose in sympathy. "And by people, you mean Hoechlin – who's like, obsessed with you in a really wholesome and reasonable way?"

Holland rolls her eyes. "God, Dyl. He's into you. Get over it. I can’t believe you’re this shaken by the fact that someone would want you in more ways than one. Your problems are so _minuscule_ compared to Walter White's."

"No. Well- I mean. Look, Hoechlin’s so cool, and- and so great, and a friend - and I don't want that to go wrong." Dylan trails off on a watery sigh - gazing dreamily at nothing. "But man, I just really want his face on my face."

Holland laughs at that, throwing her head back, "You're so gay for him it's not even funny. It's _hilarious._ Can I tweet this? Hashtag- _gayvelation_." She pulls out her phone, which Dylan confiscates immediately with his longer limbs.

Crystal shakes her head, exasperated. "I'm sorry, I'm not following. Who are you trying to convince here? Why are you even upset? You both want each other's faces."

“I just want things to not go wrong, and I don’t know what to do about it.” He shakes his head. “We’re gonna be filming for the next two months. And I want things to be okay. Like, super cool.”

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel,” Crystal sighs patronizingly, making dimples at him.

"I'm- I’m just freaked out. And nervous, which is pretty much my default setting,” Dylan admits, burrowing further into the couch in shame. “Just ignore me.”

"Don't worry, I am." She tells him, already turned back to the TV.

Daniel and Gage walk in then, looking fake-bloody and tired but good tired. Holland raises a hand, “Question: would you fuck Dylan.”

Dylan makes a much-harangued face at them all.

Daniel stares at him for a bit, then shrug-nods. Gage ties her hair up and falls into a chair opposite the coffee table, twisting her mouth in thought. “I’d fuck you, Dylan,” she says after a beat. “But I wouldn’t date you. You’re much too… You’re just- much too. I’d date Stiles though.”

Crystal pulls herself out of the TV screen briefly to remark earnestly, raising her brows, “I’d date the _hell_ out of Stiles.”

Holland says casually to her phone, “I would _ruin_ Stiles.”

“This is getting intense, I’m leaving.” Dylan gets up promptly, thoroughly grossed-out.

He escapes the stuffed trailer, but not before Daniel stops him to hold his hand tenderly for a second, look into his eyes, and tell him, “I’d date you, Dylan.”

 

==

 

"I'm sorry I was a dick."

Hoechlin jumps about a foot – in the middle of grabbing his bag at Dylan's feet, as Dylan lay spread-out on the couch, looking up at him with all the sincerity he can muster while covering half his red face with his arm – in terrible, terrible shame.

He’s been avoiding Hoechlin for about three days now, and maybe they’re both taller for it. Dylan has been lying there in the make-up trailer for a couple hours, waiting for him to come in. Dylan wants his weird friend back, and he’ll live through this if it breaks him. He’s gonna tell him his _feelings_.

"Holy shit, I thought you were asleep," Hoechlin gasps, a hand on his chest. Dylan revels a little at getting him back for all the times Hoechlin had pranked him before. "What are you even doing in here, we're wrapped for the day."

"I was waiting for you?" _and holding your bag hostage because you're ignoring me or I'm ignoring you or we're ignoring each other_ , Dylan does not add.

Hoechlin's wearing a snug grey shirt tucked into his dark jeans, which shouldn't look as good as it does, but it's Hoechlin, so alas. The collar of his shirt is dark, wet from washing his face or his hair, and Dylan wants to reach out and curl his fingers underneath it, stretch the fabric.

“Were you. I thought you were avoiding me,” Tyler says a little bitterly, stuffing his jacket into his bag.

“I was,” Dylan replies, coughing awkwardly, “but now I’m not. I guess I just missed your face, Hoechlin.”

Tyler laughs at that, exasperated, his eyes curving. Dylan stares.

Dylan realizes he wants to make him laugh more. Frequently. As many times as possible. Possibly every minute of every day. It's a weird thought.

Tyler considers Dylan lying there for a second, then straightens up. “Well, you’ve seen it. I’ll see you around,” he says, heading out. And something in Dylan’s chest lurches.

“Dude, wait. Um.”

Hoechlin stops and turns, looking at him expectantly. And Dylan blurts out everything.

“I’m sorry about the other day, I was just freaked out, and just, _astounded_ that you would even maybe- _like_ like me in that way, so I just- assumed that you were, I dunno, projecting, and just found Stiles really funny and attractive and I’m just there, being Stiles all the time – so it’s completely understandable that you’d make that jump, and dude, I just- I don’t want to be yanked around like that, and be Stiles, and not be Stiles, but also have you attracted to me- like, all the time, and- and I just _bolted,_ alright?”

Dylan barely tapers his torrent of incoherent ramble, breathing heavily like he just ran a lot. And Tyler just looks vaguely worried for a beat.

He finally raises a sculpted eyebrow. "You know that you didn't really say anything just then?"

"I am aware." Dylan admits, breathing raggedly through his nose.

Tyler raises a corner of his lips like he can’t help it, and shakes his head slowly. “What did you mean the other day, when you said ‘this thing’? _This thing, that we_ \- what.”

Dylan grimaces, staring pleadingly back at him.

"So let me get this straight.” Hoechlin says, shutting his eyes against it, “you're saying, you don't want to be misled to think that I'm into you, when I'm actually into your character?"

Dylan flinches at how stupid that sounds when paraphrased so neatly. "I want to say no, now. But yes."

" _So you're saying_ ," Hoechlin iterates firmly, "that you think I'm stupid enough to confuse you, Dylan, with a _fictional character_ , and malicious enough to come on to you without meaning it."

"Oh my god, no, but yes." Dylan covers his whole face from the world. Fuck his brain and his mouth and the useless space in between. He was not an adult. He was the opposite of a grown-up. He was practically Stiles Stilinski at this point in terms of romantic artistry.

"Won't that be just, unnecessarily convoluted of me?" Hoechlin asks, to which Dylan can say nothing but groan into his palms. "Not to mention stupid and solving nothing.”

“Look, I’m really, really sorry I was a dick, and pushed you away – which was incredibly unfair, because any and all interest, if any, would be super welcome and completely reciprocated. Can we, just-“ Dylan tries to illustrate with his hands: _return to normal. Cancel everything. Forget all the words that ever came out of my mouth._

Tyler sighs, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck for a second, looking down at him like he can’t even. Dylan swallows and breathes hollowly for a while, waiting for him to do something, walk out, call him names, anything.

“Come on,” Tyler tells him, softly, “Sit up.”

Dylan obeys, twisting around to plant his feet on the floor. Tyler pulls his hands away to look at him plainly – with his stupidly chiseled face and his stupid stubble and his stupid mouth pulled tight in an annoyed line. It’s weirdly familiar, this look of exasperated fondness.

“Let me be perfectly clear about this.” Tyler says.

And before Dylan could even nod, Hoechlin surges forward and kisses him firmly on the mouth, swallowing his lips once, breathing out, then twice more - eyes sliding closed and arms leaning in against the couch, trapping Dylan’s head in between.

It happens for a while – air becoming second thought as they make out lazily against the couch like that. Dylan doesn’t notice when his hand comes up to hold Tyler’s face against his.

Tyler finally pulls away, grinning at him through stilted breaths. “You freaking out yet.”

“Not yet.” Dylan nods, clearing his throat, probably looking harried and confused and swept off his feet. He feels like he jumped a few chapters. Jumped a canyon.

“Good,” Tyler observes, scuffing Dylan’s head with his knuckle and pushing off the couch to slide his hands into his pockets, looking smug and blinding.

“I like you, Dylan.” He says. “Get over it.”

Dylan can’t help but huff out a laugh, at them both. He shakes his head and looks down at somewhere near Tyler’s shoes. “You’re so weird,” he tells him.

“You’re so great.” Tyler says, grinning, the same as ever.

 


End file.
